


Five Simple Words

by rachanlv



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Feels, Falling In Love, First Everything, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, So much angst, post winter soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:59:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2789186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachanlv/pseuds/rachanlv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The battle is looming on the horizon, but before the final fight you close your eyes just for one moment and your mind instantly drowns you in memories, far more pleasant ones, thankfully putting all the chaos around you on stop just this once. Sweet memories, reminiscences of the old run-down apartment in Brooklyn, bruises and scars, and his gentle hands in yours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Simple Words

**Author's Note:**

> This one took forever to write, but nevertheless, I'm very excited to share this one with you. It's my first Stucky fic and I hope you'll enjoy reading this~ 
> 
> *bows down to celtic-harmony for betaing this thing*

The world is closing in; you can barely breathe. You greedily suck in the air, but your lungs reject it and you feel like suffocating. You hear the muffled sounds and voices of people around you and you’re almost sure that the cold metal against your nape is a gun. Hands above your head and on your knees, somebody says something to you that you can barely register. The persistent, deafening shrill in your head is blocking out everything except for his voice –five simple words- said and left a scorched wound in their wake. 

 

**_Who the hell is Bucky?_ **

 

You let yourself be dragged into the car along with the others, two agents following suit to keep an eye on all of you. The Winter Soldier- not only he’s not a mere ghost story, but he’s... Bucky. When that finally settles in, you feel sick.

 

\----------------

 

 

Saved by Agent Hill, Director Fury being alive, S.H.I.E.L.D compromised and HYDRA’s insane plan rapidly taking motion- everything feels surreal. Your head hurts from all the information, from all the truth finally being laid bare. You try to cope, put on the brave and heroic face that the world needs of Captain America; although deep down Steve Rogers is just struggling to stay alive. 

 

‘I’m sorry about your friend, Cap.’ It’s Sam and you hear the sincerity and true compassion in his voice. Awkward silence follows and you don’t know what else there is to say other than ‘Thanks’. He shrugs, hesitates, maybe thinking that he’s in no position to talk to you about something so personal, something that obviously still hurts so much. He goes on, regardless, choosing his words carefully: ‘Cap, listen, whatever your friend is now, he's not the same person you once knew. I’m sorry to say this...  but I have a feeling that he’s not the kind you save, rather... he's the kind you stop.’

 

‘I’m not sure that I can do that.’ You look Sam in the eye and lie, you _are_ sure that you _won’t_ do that. It’s still him, your dear friend, your comrade, still your...Bucky. You know it, feel it.

 

‘He might not give you a choice,’ his voice is thick with concern now, eyebrows furrowed, ‘I don’t know how close two of you were, but it’s a war, Cap. All over again. Stakes are roof-high and you know that.’

 

_‘You can’t go into this battle unfocused’_ , is what Sam chose not to say, but obviously thought about. You know that he’s right, about everything.

 

‘We move out at dawn,’ you say instead, ‘you should get some sleep.’

 

\----------------

 

Sleep never comes to _you_ that night. You can’t sleep, how _can_ you sleep at a time like this? You lay on the makeshift bed, trying to wrap your head around everything. Trying to strategize, plan your teams’ actions beforehand. S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters will be heavily guarded; the battles you all have to face tomorrow will be brutal, bordering on impossible, but you have faith in your team regardless of what happens. You just wish for a brighter tomorrow, a future not stained in blood and a world that is no longer afraid of HYDRA or anyone else.

 

It all sounds like a goodbye in your head, as if you’re not planning to come back from that fight. There _is_ a possibility of that actually happening. You might get shot in the head by a random unforeseen bullet, get blown up to pieces by a grenade landing right under your feet... or get torn apart by a cold-steeled arm with a bright red star on it. You recall your meeting at the bridge at that -Bucky’s face and what he’d said- the memory of it still lingers, it still tears at you from inside out.

 

You close your eyes just for one moment and your mind instantly drowns you in memories, far more pleasant ones, thankfully putting all the chaos around you on stop just this once.

You remember the confident, fun, bit cocky and bright guy – that’s James Buchanan Barnes that all the girls in Brooklyn knew and wanted to know much closer. Then there was this honest, brave and reliable James Barnes that only some people knew about. And finally, there was _Bucky_ that only you got to see- loyal, stubborn in the most remarkable way, thoughtful and with a heart so big and kind that it’s mind-boggling.

 

Nevertheless, Bucky did have an underside of his own, for starters, he was reckless: always getting into fights with guys bullying you and even when he’s clearly outnumbered he would never back down, making you fear for his life every damn time. He would end the fight spitting curses and then smiling, putting a hand around your bony shoulder; his knuckles bloodied and so torn that it’s painful to even look at. You’d take care of him afterwards, cleaning his wounds and bandaging him up, not failing to provide a healthy dose of lecturing between the lines of _You could’ve died, Buck, for God’s sake_ and _Wipe that smile off your face, I’m serious._ But that smile only widened and you felt his palm on your cheek, patting it, all comforting and reassuring.

 

He was also so selfless that it was close to the point of being downright unbelievable: for a very long time you refused to understand why the heck Bucky should be the only one providing for _both of you_. He stayed locked up in the garage till the crisp winter dawn and took extra hours here and there. It made you angry at yourself, you _did_ know why a lot of people refused you work, what can a weak kid like you do, anyway? You felt upset with this, even more so when Bucky would come back home from an all-nighter, dead-tired and instead of immediately crashing onto the bed, he’d ask _And how was your day, Stevie?_

 

All that kindness didn’t go unnoticed and digging deeper into the memories, you can’t overlook the obvious, can’t ignore the sting of uncertain jealousy you felt back then, burning in your gut whenever you two went out for the night. You never liked it, because you were never sure who you’re jealous of: Bucky or that girl?

 

But you were always bad at lying, but since nobody asked anything it’s not _lying_ , right? It’s just... not telling the truth. And that truth came pushing you forward, down the spiral staircase of things that should not be disturbed and should’ve been buried deep where they belonged. It pushed you straight into Bucky’s arms one night, you feeling weird and your face being so dangerously close to his. You remember him blinking and cocking a lop-sided grin, saying _‘Now, now there tiger, easy.’_  He didn’t push you away; it was you who pull away hurriedly, as if you’ve been burned; you felt so scared and shocked at your own actions. You apologized and quickly hid under covers of your bed, ignoring your heart’s thumping against the rib cage. You couldn’t see what Bucky was doing after that or the expression on his face, but in a short time you heard the light switch turning off and felt a familiar weight on the mattress.

 

_‘_ G’night. _’_ he said and you were too scared to even return the favor.

 

Not much had changed between you two since then; it was the same new morning as the hundred mornings before: Bucky stretching lazily in the bed, with his eyes still closed and not wanting to get up just yet. You quietly observed him from the safe distance of the dining table, somehow getting irritated all over again. You can’t explain this irritation even to yourself and that, in return, irritates you even more.

 

You snap at Bucky on several occasions for no obvious reason, he asks more than once if you’re okay and you lie that everything is fine. Later on, you did figure most of it out.

 

The root of that unexplainable frustration lay in confusion. You realized that you’re just a confused kid who mistakenly tried to find comfort in your friend. Bucky was always there to provide life-saving support and you’ll be forever grateful for that. But you’re only human, so it was natural of you to long for human touch too, for a hug or even a kiss. Seeing that Bucky is always so open and friendly with you, protective of you, so hide it as you may, but you felt attracted to him in a way that you shouldn’t have ever been attracted to a man. That feeling was so much harder to ignore especially when no one ever looked at you, quite the same way as Bucky did.

 

Several weeks passed, and everything seemed to get back on the right track. Bucky still ruffled your hair before going to work, still got into fights now and then, still dragged you out in the evenings and tried to hook you up with some pretty girl. And you, on the other hand, smiled, laughed, lectured him from time to time; all the while tried to think less about how Bucky is the only person in your life who feels like home and warmth.

________

 

You remember your first serious fight – vivid as day. It was right after Benny Goodman’s outstanding performance, during which you were fairly distracted by the thought of _How could we afford this?_ rather than by the charming brunette sitting next to you.

You two came back home way past midnight and neither of you were as drunk as you thought you’d be.

 

‘I can’t believe you turned Lizzy down,’ Bucky said back then, nonchalantly kicking off his shoes, ‘she seemed like a real sweetheart.’

 

‘Who?’ Pulled from your reverie, you lifted an eyebrow at him.

 

Bucky just barked out a laugh in response, came up to you and took you by the shoulder, ‘Elizabeth – Lizzy, remember? The drop-dead gorgeous brunette, that was eyeing you for the whole evening?’

 

You lowered your eyes and weakly shook your head, ‘Come on, Buck, you know it ain’t true.’ 

 

His grip on your shoulder tightened, ‘Steve, you are the smartest person that I know, but boy, you sure say some stupid things sometimes.’

 

You looked at him then, his eyes were soft and so kind and you mumbled ‘Yeah, I guess I do.’ He smiled, all perfect white teeth, and gave you a friendly little punch on the shoulder. He turned around to face the mirror and began unbuttoning his vest, quietly humming some song. After a short while you began undressing, too. This ought to have been a perfect end to a great night.

 

‘That girl, Lizzy,’ you began, purposefully making a pause so that Bucky would stop what he’s doing and would look at you in the mirror. He was still smiling, a small pull around the corners of his lips, ‘She had eyes only on you.’

 

Bucky’s smile dropped, he turned around and said, ‘Let’s not do this tonight.’ There was no question, just a bold, clear-cut statement. He returned to folding his vest, eyes focused on the piece of cloth at hand: an obvious signal that this conversation was over. 

 

You usually went with it, when it was over – it’s over. But not that night; that night you wanted to be heard.

 

‘You know it’s true, Buck.’ You began again, and when your friend just rolled his eyes without responding, you continued with a sigh, ‘That’s just how it is, I’m used to it by now. I mean, let’s be honest, what girl would want me?’

 

You saw him glaring at you at that, eyes sharp. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but he kept silent instead. You took that as a cue to continue: ‘Don’t give me that look, I know we talked about this before and I want to believe in what you said, but...‘

 

You paused and when he remained silent still, you went on, ‘Buck, you’re my friend, so all I ask is for you to be honest with me,’ your fingers moved slowly, yet surely, you unbuttoned your shirt and pulled it off your shoulders, laying all that skin and bones bare for him to see, ‘how can _anyone_ want this?..’

Your voice wavered, there’s a knot in your chest, however you go on, ‘ _Look at me_. I’m just a pitiful sight, ain’t I? Nothing but a bag of bones that nobody wants to see next to them, and they’re right for not wanting to.’

 

Your face’s burning with heat, your eyes sting, and you could barely see Bucky’s face at this point. But you didn’t care about that anymore; you just wanted to get it all out: ‘I’m _nothing_ like you, Buck. I’ll never be a picture-perfect guy with dames swooning at his side. The reality is that they don’t even look me in the eye, because what’s the point in wasting their precious time on _this_?’

 

You hear Bucky wanting to say something, but you interrupted him, and pushed on, ‘Please don’t lie to me. Just tell me, who would choose to spend a lifetime with _me_?’ You wiped the tears with the back of your hand; however they still kept coming back. You don’t know how to make it all stop; you just want to disappear right now. To fade away, wouldn’t it make Bucky’s life easier?

 

You blink repeatedly, and when you see Bucky, you’re taken aback: he is _looking_ at you, tears threatening to escape from his eyes- he’s _seeing_ you. You felt like dying; he looked so _hurt_. If you’d apologize now, would that do it?

 

As you thought of begging for forgiveness and were about to open your mouth to say it, Bucky reached out and pulled you close. You could feel his hands closing in on your skinny shoulders, wrapping you in warmth; your own wrapping around him in turn, thin fingers digging deep into the fabric of his shirt. 

 

You stay like this for no soul knows how long, you didn’t know what to say, or where to begin. Bucky took the lead instead, his voice strained and deep: ‘If they can’t see what it would be like to spend their days with you, then they‘re not worth it.’

 

You let out a broken laugh, ‘Yeah... But would you?..’ you uttered bitterly into his shoulder, not even sure what you’re asking or why.

 

‘Yeah,’ he pulled away slightly, just enough to make room for this small maneuver, looked you in the eyes and pressed his lips against your temple, ‘Yeah, I would.’

 

And at that moment everything seemed so simple and finally clear. Something in you uncoiled at last and tears ran down your face again. He held you a bit closer at that, kissed the very same spot again and began humming you a sweet song.

 

You watched him sleep that night, the very night when you dared to steal a kiss and allowed yourself to fall in love with Bucky Barnes.

 

________

 

The first time the kiss was answered stroke you down like a lightning.

 

It was one of those sleepless nights with him plopped on the kitchen chair and you looming over him and bandaging him up, sanitizing his bruised body: knuckles bleeding and cuts going up all the way to the elbow, upper lip broken and you did not fail to notice the dried blood under his nose; all of this will surely hurt for weeks to come.

 

‘If you keep this up, we’ll spend all of our money on the meds, you know,’ you sigh, putting so much effort in making your voice sound normal. You began cleaning the wound and as Bucky hissed in response, you could bet anything that it hurt just as bad as it looked, ‘I know I sound like an old record, but I’m not apologizing for that.’

 

‘Look at you being all serious,’ that lop-sided, charming grin was back. And as you looked at him you realized that just for that smile alone you want to kiss him silly, but somewhere at the back of your mind you say a firm ‘no’ to that thought. It’s better to try to repeat your late-night, one-sided kiss endeavors, so to be on the safe side. Who knows, maybe later tonight you’d have your chance.

 

‘Yeah, I am,’ you stop in mid-action, ‘I mean, you’re important to me Buck, so why shouldn’t I be worried about you?’

 

What you wouldn’t give to see that look on Bucky’s face again – for the first time since you’ve known him, he does not know how to respond, maybe its alcohol meddling with his reactions or perhaps, something else entirely. You returned to his wounds and carried on with your thought, ‘Seeing you this hurt more often than not, is not that easy, you know. Sometimes, I sit on that windowsill, look into the night and think, ‘what if something happened? What if Bucky doesn’t come back?’ and that thought scares the life out of me. You know me, my mind only gnaws on that feeling and I think ‘what would I do without him?’ and in my head it sounds all panicky -’

 

‘Hey,’ Bucky finally speaks, ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

 

‘I know that,’ you threw the bloody cloth in the trash with a bit too much force than was necessary, reached for a new one and began the procedure again, ‘but I wouldn’t know what to do if you weren’t. That’s really selfish of me, I know… Still, I just thought that I should let you know.’

 

You continued to work on his injuries in silence from there on out, but you could feel his eyes on you. You couldn’t bring yourself to look back at him; you weren’t sure what you’d do.

The silence stretches and you can’t recall the last time it felt so unnatural; at some point you even began to notice the ticking of the clock, the sound echoing heavily around the room. After a painfully long ten minutes –you counted- you heard him speak: ‘You know that I’d never think that.’

 

You threw him a very quick glance that lasted for a split second at best, and went back to focusing on cleaning cloths and antiseptics.

 

‘Steve,’ Bucky called, but you didn’t answer. He tried a different approach then; he took you by the wrist, to make a point for you to stop, and turned you around so you would face him, ‘Oh c’mon, you’re my boy Stevie, how can I not come back to you, hm?’

 

You can’t say why, but those words made you look at him; your eyes wandering all over his face. Searching and taking in his features; it’s strange and bit silly that you never noticed that tiny, barely visible scar right above his eyebrow, never paid attention to how stunning his eyes looked in a half-lid room and never wondered how eyes of such cold color can look so warm and welcoming.

It startled you out of your thoughts when Bucky’s hand wrapped around your second wrist, thumb brushing lightly over your pulse line, just a ghostly touch. He lowered his eyes to look at your hands in his, smiled and looked up again, ‘You know that I love you, right?’

 

You falter, your mind stutters and instead of answering with a sarcastic remark about him and his drunken brain, you began desperately searching his face for any traces of a possible joke, small lines on his face that would give him away. You looked intently and keenly, but as you blinked the confusion away, all you did find were honest eyes and a bittersweet smile, and that look alone had stroke you down to the core. There’s a knot in your throat; you can’t say that you love him back. Not for the reason that you don’t, but because you _can’t_. What if he’s kidding? What if he’s talking about something entirely different? Kiss him now and potentially ruin everything you had; push him away because of one stupid kiss? _You’re overthinking this Steve_ , you said to yourself back then, _just_ _say something and be done with it_. 

 

But nothing came to your mind at that time, in fact your mind went blank and you were afraid that maybe you’re imagining things, because none of this could be happening in real life. You feel him pulling you closer and you let him, close enough for your nose to almost bump into his, enough to close the distance with the kiss you wanted and dreaded so much. You see him looking at you, _into_ you; and you can’t help but to look back. Your attention halts at his split lip and you want to kiss the bruise away; and somewhere between thinking it and wanting it, you’re mind was the last to realize that you’re already doing it.

 

As your brain finally caught up on the things your body decided to do, you could feel the small hairs on your neck jumping up and your whole body becoming numb as if you swallowed lead. You just froze, your lips pressed awkwardly against his and panic is building up with fearsome speed in your gut. A slight, barely noticeable movement from his side and you ready yourself for anything that might happen from this point on; but not in the thousand years could you imagine that instead of punching your teeth in, he would return the favor. It’s chaste and almost painfully gentle; a touch of lips so tender, akin to butterflies dancing. He frames your face, his hands soft against your skin and yet he pulls away; he looks deep into your eyes – maybe seeking the answer to the question asked and left abandoned. You choke down that _I love you too_ and say nothing,but he kisses you again, and then again, making you feel light and so... _free_.

 

______

 

Eventually winter withdrew in defeat and made way for the springtime. Spring in Brooklyn wasn’t the most breathtaking sight that a person could have imagined, nevertheless the change was indeed nice and welcome. The moments when you could catch the pleasant warmth of sun on your face was enough to ignore the grey mush of the late snow that was still lying on the streets. You sit at the window, the gentle breeze playing with your hair and you’re enjoying that change in nature to the fullest. You turn around and see a familiar scene.

 

It’s the beginning of a new day and Bucky is getting dressed; you have to admit that you developed a habit of watching this process from start to finish – with a pencil in your hand and an album on your lap. He did not seem to notice what you’re doing and it’s better this way. The position you’re in and the angle was just right.

The graphite hits the paper as he starts: crisp white shirt lies flawlessly on broad shoulders, his fingers working swiftly on all the buttons and with a single motion he lifts the collar up. Next comes the brown vest – rich in its color- and it accentuates his figure to an extent that it’s hard to look away. As a matter of fact, it distracted you long enough that you skipped a few minutes of sketching and stared at Bucky as if mesmerized. It all fits him like a glove and it seems that everything he wears is tailor-made, which is so far from truth it’s not even funny.

He combs his hair with sure and precise movements and just in a few he’s done – nothing out of place, it’s done to perfection. His morning procedure is almost complete; he adjusts the collar, reaches out to grab his jacket from the hanger, quickly looks into the mirror, and then curses rather loudly, ‘Damn it, where is it?’ 

 

You glance at him, but he’s pre-occupied with looking for that something in the closet, on the couch and basically around the room, a brow furrowed in impatience and curses spilling faster then you can blink – he’s quite a wordsmith. So you look at him intently, searching for the missing detail in his clothes that gone missing and was most surely needed. It didn’t take long to solve the puzzle, especially since the answer was lying right across from you. You get up and think to yourself that it’s amazing how things get lost in a small apartment like yours. You took the tie and casually made your way to Bucky, tapped him on the shoulder and held up the found treasure with the smuggest smile you can possibly pull off. He doesn’t say anything at first, his eyes doing that for him – all wide and disbelieving, in a good way. He smiles in a moment and grabs the tie from your hand, laughs and finally speaks, ‘Wipe that smile off your face.’

 

‘Not a chance.’ You retaliate with a humorous remark of your own and swiftly steal the precious piece of fabric from his hands, maneuvering it to the safety of your back; your smile only widening.

 

‘Steve Rogers,’ he says after a small pause of awe, but was grinning seconds later, ‘You are a rebel.’   

 

And you followed that rebellious wave and instead of holding onto the tie, you wrapped it around Bucky’s neck, which resulted in you being almost plastered close against him. You felt the heat coming up your neck and your cheeks began to burn.

 

Oh, right, it dawns on you now.

 

After all, you two decided to keep your distance since that winter kiss, not like you pretended that it didn’t happen but things _were_ different. You talked and laughed, and supported each other – sure, but you never shared a bed since then and your morning meals were mostly silent, with exception of newspaper rustling and a sound of food being consumed. Bucky would sleep on the improvised bed on the floor or won’t come home after a night out at all. When a rare occasion would arise and Bucky would be spending his day home, you’d found yourself on the streets, either walking aimlessly ‘till nightfall or searching here and there for any job that might come your way. At the end of the day you would stare pointlessly at the ceiling, thinking if that kiss was just a moment of weakness, you would forever cherish the feeling of freedom it gave you.

 

You snap back to attention when you feel the weight of Bucky’s hands on your lower back. You lift your gaze and meet the blue eyes carefully studying you and your reaction to this. There’s no trace of that gorgeous smile on his face.

 

‘You okay with this?’ he lifts his hands a bit and puts them back, indicating what he meant by asking.

 

You consider this, thinking it over: how does that make you feel? The reality of the answer you found makes you hesitate about replying right away. It makes you feel... at peace. Safe, warm and needed, and _Bucky_ makes you feel that way. You gulp down the uncertainty and look him dead in the eye, with the mustered-up confidence you respond: ‘Yeah, as the matter of fact – I am.’

 

Bucky’s face is unreadable. After a moment of short wait his grip tightenes and you end up being pressed flat against him, ‘Even now?’

 

‘Still a yes,’ you say valiantly, chin shooting up. There was no hint of a joke or your usual banter; the air about you two was uncompromising, weighting both of you down, ‘Are you testing me?’

 

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up and you are astonished by the words that left your mouth. You can’t take them back, so might as well go all the way and be out with it: ‘If that’s the case, you’d have to do a better job than that.’

 

‘Something like this?’ he darts down and kisses you; the suddenness of it is staggering and before long it’s already over.

But something in you ignites after that short kiss, and now you feel daring and defiant, ‘That’s no way a proper kiss.’

 

You relish in the way Bucky is taken aback, his jaw dropping slightly. The air surrounding you both changed drastically, god knows where it’ll take you.

Bucky scoffs and shakes his head, ‘You’re pushing your limits _way_ out there, Stevie.’ His voice sounds light and amused, but his eyes tell a very different tale: he couldn’t hide that glint of fire even if he tried. You can bet anything that your own eyes have the glint identical to his.

 

You’re tired of treading carefully, tiptoeing around it and watching your step when it comes to showing the love you have for him. You’re done, so you dive in headstrong: ‘Try me and let’s find out.’

 

You don’t need to say anything more, he’s already on you: open-mouthed kisses so hot and sensual, you feel the pleasure pooling in the pit of your stomach and your blood heating up insanely fast. You reciprocate eagerly, pulling him closer with his tie and tasting every bit of him that you can get and he smiles into the kiss –you’re amazed that you can actually feel it. The next moment you’re letting out a gasp, as his hand gets a firm grip of your ass - this sensation sends a jolt through your spine and you suddenly realize how constricting your pants feel. He kisses you more and you try to press even closer to his body, you want to get under his skin.

 

You end up on the bed with him on top of you and you can’t find it in your kiss-drunken mind to care how you got there. Somewhere in between shared breathes you stop to look at Bucky’s face, his lips; he’s looking right back and you feel your bones melting under his gaze. Your whole body is on fire, you want everything he has to offer and then some more. You move to readjust your position slightly and when Bucky’s breathe hitches, you drop your gaze to find the cause and it strikes you down: there’s no mistaking it, that distinctive outward push of fabric between his legs is there because of _you_. That realization makes your mouth feel dry all of the sudden and your whole body _throb_ with want.

 

You spread your legs to give him access and pull him down and _closer,_ so there won’t be a chance of you not feeling him pressing firmly against your thigh, he inhales sharply and whispers your name into the humid space between your mouths. You want to say something back, but there’s no time - he catches your lips with his own and something in you _explodes_.

 

It’s a _riot_. 

 

Against everyone and everything that the world ever made you fear of; there’s nothing else existing in this very moment but you and him – together, like this. With his lips trailing hungry kisses down your neck and along the collarbone, releasing you from the confines of your shirt; your hands desperately trying to find purchase in his shirt, his hair, his back – in anything, because you _can’t_ , it’s overwhelming and you feel like an exposed wiring ready to combust.

 

You feel his hand going lower, between your legs and his fingers brushing lightly against the fabric where your pants are strained, a touch that is barely there but you feel it bone deep; you want to _moan_ and curses start flooding your brain – it’s _so good,_ it shouldn’t feel so goddamn good. You push into the touch - it’s an involuntarily reaction – and Bucky doesn’t need to be told twice, so he does it again, more firmly now, palming you through your pants and kissing you deeply. You arch your back and finally allow yourself to moan into the kiss and at that Bucky was already working on getting your belt open, swift fingers doing their job flawlessly.

 

He maneuvers you to foot of the bed and ends up kneeling between your legs, kisses the inner side of your thighs languidly, gently, and looks at you for a final reassurance, asking silently for a permission and if this is what you really want. You can’t answer him in any language other than your body’s, but he reads you, _understands_ you, so he licks his lips and goes down, and you stop breathing all together, lungs failing, mind shattering into million different pieces – his mouth is on you.

 

This feeling is maddening: with each movement that his lips make, with every twist and pull of his hand on your cock – you’re hopelessly losing the battle for self-control. The edge is there and so near; you’re embarrassed that you can’t hold on even that long. His tongue skims over the head, making your toes curl and you try to utter a word of warning to him that you’re close – so close – but he doesn’t pull away. He just looks at you and it is enough, you bite your knuckle as your whole body shudders as you come.

 

When he lets you go and you’re exposed to the cool air of the room you feel tentative and suddenly self-cautious of your naked body, imagining for a split second how you must look in Bucky’s eyes and that thought alone makes you want to shrink in and pull the clothes back on; regardless of what just happened. You ignore your liquid bones and climb back on the bed, Bucky follows.

 

‘Steve, hey, look at me. You okay?’ he asks, removing a single rogue strand of blond hair from your eyes, voice still ragged and lips deep red.

 

You’re too incoherent to answer him right away, so you turn your head to look at him instead. There are so many things going on in your mind – the questions keep flooding in and multiplying fast, and the most persistent of them all is ‘ _what now?_ ’ But at the same time, you want to switch off your brain and wrap yourself around him and stay silent, because you are terrified of the truth that will come crushing down once you two get up from this bed.

 

He calls your name again, but all you can find in yourself is to turn to your side to face him and with no further ado – kiss him. Wholeheartedly and dearly, he means _so much_ to you, it physically hurts. But you know that you can’t have him now or ever.

 

_______

 

 

The questions you’ve been meaning to ask were pushed further away with each passing day, you know the answer, and it gnaws on you – it scratches at the back of your mind intensely, determinedly. Truth can be left unspoken for so long, you know that there is no avoiding it. You must have _the_ conversation at some point or another.

 

Bucky is back sharing the bed with you and now it has an entirely different meaning: cold nights don’t bother you anymore, you don’t have a lot of sleep to feel its chill biting your skin anyway, since you two spend your time before dawn somewhere between soft, lazy kisses to dazed pleads for more.

The days are different in comparison – reserved, a bit withdrawn. You both have your brains set on straight and know that what you two have now is something no one has to see or know. That feeling of elation you have when you’re kissing his lips, when he’s kissing your eyelids before sleep is only attained behind the walls of your apartment, with curtains down and lights turned off.

 

You two had to keep up to the roles people assumed were truly you: Bucky’s still a ladies man and as he wraps a hand around Marie’s waist and kisses her loudly, the fellas cheer and you just sit there looking in your beer glass, trying not to look in their direction.

 

Then, out of the blue, some sweet girl came up to you and asked for a dance. You were so dumbfounded that you did not answer right away, so she had to repeat the question. As you danced with her you couldn’t help but notice the constellation of freckles on her cute face, gentle blush gracing her cheeks and lips that were smiling for you for the whole dance. She was very pretty and her strawberry blond curls made her seem like an angel. When you come back to the table alone–she excused herself to the ladies room- you realize that it’s just you and Bucky. You sit quietly for some time, before someone had to break the silence, ‘Where’s Marie?’

 

He throws you a short glance from under the brim of his whisky glass and tilts his head to her direction, she was at the other table chatting away with some ladies. Bucky gulps down the last drops of his drink and places the glass in front of him with a loud clang. You take a sip of beer. You don’t remember the last time you two sat at this table and had nothing to talk about; well, no, you _have_ things to talk about, but that conversation is not for the public to hear. This feeling is unsettling, you feel like you’re tied up and by the way Bucky is acting you know that he’s feeling the invisible ropes around his limbs, too.

 

The fellas came back and it suddenly got louder, all of them talking at the same time – impossible for an outsider to understand even a word in all that gibberish of drunken mumble and slurs making occasional appearances- but you know these guys, so you get what they’re trying to convey through half-spoken words and gestures. Richard Owens –or Big Rich, how you all called him- crashes on the stool near Bucky and wraps a massive hand around his shoulder and after a short moment of staring at him, deadpans: ‘So you taking Marie to the dance in the sheets tonight, Barnes?’ And all the guys –including you- swap their attention to Bucky at that moment.

 

Bucky just shakes his head and his mouth twists in something remotely resembling a smirk, ‘Just for _that_ I’m calling you a Big **_Dick_** from now on.’

 

Rich momentarily explodes in laughter and everyone followed suit, except you. Bucky looks at you while the laughter pitch turns close to hysterical and you look back, there is something apologetic in his eyes and a small twitch on his lips, like he wanted to say something but he couldn’t – not here. You try to reassure him with the most convincing look you can muster at this point and it seemed to work. Big Rich shakes Bucky’s shoulder in a truly friendly manner and as his laughing fit comes to an end, he probes further: ‘James Buchanan Barnes, don’t tell me that you are committed to another girl.’

 

It wasn’t even a question, it was said like a statement, as if Bucky is not capable of committing to anyone. Your eyes dash at Buck at that, having known him for that long gave you the insight needed to read his mood just from his facial features and right now he’s becoming pissed, but taking the punches thrown his way patiently.

 

‘I’m gonna grab something to drink,’ he rose up from the booth and went to the bar.

 

When he didn’t return in ten and then in thirty minutes, you go to check on his whereabouts. You thought to find him at the bar chatting with Marie, but he wasn’t there. She came up and asked if he’s with you and that’s when you began to feel a pang of worry in your chest.

 

You decided to look at the back alley of the bar and felt relieved when he was standing there, leaning against the wall with a fag caught between his lips – a small red light in the night. He apprehends you before you open your mouth to speak, ‘Had to take a break from all that shit.’ He nods at the bar and you get what he means.

 

‘You alright?’ you ask warily, pushing your hands in the pockets and coming up to him. You look at him as he takes a drag, exhales a long line of smoke, drops it to the ground and then puts it out with his boot. When the smoke dissolves into the thin air you move closer to lean against the wall beside him. You hear the distant choir of voices coming from the bar and cars driving back and forth, their lights illuminating this alley only for a fraction of second before they’re gone. Bucky rubs his face and signs; and you realize that now is the time for you to talk everything through. 

 

‘Where is this’, you began, thinking hastily how to make this conversation straight to the point, ‘ –we- are going with this, Buck?’ you finish quietly, calmly with a steel resolve to see this to the end, regardless that your gut tells you that this tête-à-tête won’t be pretty.

 

His attention shifts from the space before him to your face, he bites his lip in contemplation and blinks a couple of times, eyelids lazily doing their job. You look at him expectedly, preparing yourself for his response.

 

‘Somewhere we both want it to go?’  his voice was thick with alcohol, but still soft, gentle. You could tell that he knows what you’re getting at.

 

‘”Wanting it to go” and “allowing it to go” are not the same thing…’ you look at your feet, the pitch black dirt around your shoes looks like mire and you wonder when you’ll get sucked in.  

 

‘And we both know that we ‘can’t allow it’, can we?’ he looks at you still, not breaking the contact.

 

You raise your eyes and look at his face with bitter resolution, spending a moment to find your voice, ‘I’m afraid that we can’t.’

 

‘We can’t,’ he echoes, clears his throat and puts on the most fake smile you had ever seen on his face  before patting you on the shoulder and disappearing in the pub again.

 

Who knew that five simple words can hurt so much? 

 

_______

 

That punch to your jaw saw you swinging and crashing into the trash bins behind you with a loud thud. The pain is burning and biting, but you get up; and that idea with a bin-lid-for-shield made little to no sense – you’re on the ground again. You recreate the events prior to this fight in your mind, where you say that this guy should leave that girl be -she was crying and he wouldn’t let go of her hand- but the guy did not take your good-doing well.

 

You get up, spit blood to the ground and make his smile drop by saying ‘I can do this all day.’ The girl was nowhere in sight and the heroics weren’t exactly for _her_ , they were for the right _thing_. No one should be forced to obey someone’s will against their own. You believe this to the bone, to your brain’s core.

 

You could almost feel that next punch when he lifts his hand for the blow, but his plans have a complete turnaround: he’s the one sent home packing after a couple of skillful hits between his eyes and one humiliating kick on his rear as he was retreating.

 

‘What’s the hurry, pal?’ were the words following him, until he disappeared around the corner. ‘Figures,’ Bucky mutters while readjusting his jacket. He turns around and sighs as he sees you getting up and wiping blood from under your nose.

 

‘Third time this week, don’t you think that _maybe_ it’s enough?’ he comes up to you and casually wipes the dirt and dust from your clothes. You let him because you missed it, missed his touch too much. It’s been a month and almost a half since that breaking point at the alley and you two held your distance, only with an occasional peck on the cheek from Bucky when you end up hugging him longer than you probably should. This separation –if one could call it that- was a challenge for both of you. But it would do you good at the end, help you to go on with your lives and settle down, get married and have kids. That’s how things should be.

 

His hand lingers on your chest and you feel your heartbeat speeding up, thumping against the ribs and resonating through you. You wonder if he could feel it.

 

‘Deep breaths, Steve,’ he whispers; so he does feel it, ‘wouldn’t want you to have a heart attack because of me.’ He intends to pull his hand away, but you stop him. Cover his hand with yours and he doesn’t make an attempt to move anymore. You meet his gaze and your arms itch – you want to touch his face again, you want to kiss him as you did many-many nights before – run your fingers through his hair and lick and suck on his lower lip until he makes an impatient noise and would be close to begging for a proper kiss. You _ache_ for it. The alleyway is small and with no soul in sight – it would be so easy to reach out and do what you want. But you restrain yourself before everything is lost and you have to start building those walls up again. It’s not the matter of what you _want,_ but what is _right._

 

You let go of his hand reluctantly; he says nothing. After a short pause you see him reach in his inner pocket and pull out an envelope. You blink and furrow an eyebrow at him and he explains: ‘The war is looming on the horizon, Steve. I’ve been enlisted,’ you take the envelope from his hands and open it after his nod of permission. He goes on, ‘So as of now, I’m a part of 107th infantry,’ there’s a proud smile on his face and you congratulate him with a smile of your own, the one that says that you’re proud of him too. But at the same time, your smile conceals the story of your third attempt at the recruiting station earlier today that was a failure, you don’t want to talk about it, but you _will_ try again tomorrow.

 

_______

 

‘You’ve got nothing to prove to anyone,’ you hear his words, but you can’t accept them. Your fifth attempt at recruiting was yet another fiasco and the doctor actually recognized you and declined your application with a sigh. You want to do what is right, you want to fight for your country, for your fellow men and women… you want to fight for Bucky. But you won’t be given that chance.

 

‘Are you listening to me or thinking of a yet another way to forge your application?’ you finally look back and meet his stern gaze. Life is bustling around you and people cheer – it’s a carnival after all- but you don’t feel like jollying.

 

‘You left the girls behind just to tell me that?’ you try to pull wool over his eyes by putting on your most nonchalant expression. By the look on his face, Bucky was not impressed by your acting skill.

 

‘Quit bull-shitting me, Rogers, and stay on the subject,’ he crosses his arms over his chest and crooks an eyebrow at you, ‘Tell me that you _understand_ me when I say that you have nothing to prove.’

 

‘Well, _Sergeant Barnes,_ I regret to inform you that I don’t understand.’ You mimic his crossed-armed stance and are prepared for defense, ‘I don’t, really. Because I want and I have things to prove.’

 

‘To _whom_?’ Bucky raises his voice slightly, gesturing around himself.

 

‘You really wanna know?’ the pitch of your voice began to raise higher as well.

 

‘Do tell!’ he comes close, looming over you, crossing the line of your personal space.

 

‘To _you_ , you jerk!’ you shove him, as these words rush past your lips before you can arrange them in something decent and reasonable, ‘And to _myself_. That I’m not a worthless kid, who can’t accomplish a damn thing!’

 

‘The fuck, Steve?’ he’s in disbelief, honest and true shock if you’ve ever seen one, ‘That’s what you think of me- of _us_? That you need to prove your _worth_ to me?’

 

You bite the inside of your cheek, you need to reel yourself in and explain – calmly and thoroughly. Explain how you feel helpless when you can’t step up to arms and defend what is right, defend what is precious to you. You think about your country and freedom – things that are worth protecting, but ever since you crossed the line and fell hopelessly in-love with the man in front of you – your priorities _changed_. You’ve _changed_. Now it’s even more personal, now you want to protect the world where Bucky is in – where he breathes, laughs and _lives_. You want to protect that.

 

‘The silent treatment?’ he scoffs, taking a step back, ‘Fine. Never imagined seeing you backing out of the argument, but fine.’

 

You watch him leave with not as much as quick glance thrown your way again.  

 

You get back home only at dawn, the cool night air really helped to clear your head. You kick off your shoes the instant you get in your apartment and listen – there isn’t a single sound. It’s empty and your stomach drops, you were hoping… you’re not sure what you were hoping to see when you get back, but definitely not this emptiness. You peel off your jacket and make your way to the kitchen, spot a cup of unfinished coffee and take a sip, frowning instantly, that was cold _and_ awful. You pour the remaining pitch-black liquid into the sink and something caught your attention – there was a piece of paper laying on the counter.

 

After closer inspection it turned out to be a letter. Bucky’s letter. You lower yourself on the nearby chair and began to read it:

 

 

‘Jerk,’ you mutter to the silence of the room, blinking the treacherous tears away.

 

_______

 

Your mind chose to leave the memory of the experiment, adjusting to your new strong, tall and practically invincible body and things after that and in-between, behind and skip straight to the events after your successful rescue operation of 107th.

 

You saved over a hundred men and among them was the precious of them all – Bucky. You won’t ever forget how he looked at you when you dragged him out of that hellish place and the way he looks at you afterwards is something you wished you could change. It’s a complex mixture of bewilderment and detachment, his eyes avoiding you most of the time.

 

More times than not he’s being in the company of higher-ups and Agent Carter, you can guess what their conversations are about – Bucky can provide valuable information about HYDRA and their methods, but you don’t know the details of his reports. 

 

On one of those evenings, he’s sitting at the bar with a drink in his hand, talking to other men about the simplest things and it’s not like you can come up and ask ‘what is wrong? and ‘why are you avoiding me?’ You’ve been running your brain ragged trying to find an answer to these questions, but without hearing him actually confirm or deny anything – you’re at the dead end. So you wait and throw occasional glances his way. At some point you caught him looking at you and you hold his gaze – two of you having a staring contest of some sort, it seemed. You make a slight nod to the door and the next moment he excuses himself from the company and walks outside. You follow him in a short while.

 

You see him lit up a cigarette, take a deep, long drag and close his eyes; you come closer and stop at his side. Smoke escapes past his lips and he opens his eyes slowly.

 

‘I haven’t thanked you yet,’ he began, starring at the blank space before him, ‘for saving me and others.’

 

‘I knew that you were alive,’ you take this conversation straight where you want it to go, ‘I just felt it.’

 

‘Another one of your super powers?’ his voice sounds calm, but the way his jaw flexes gives him away. You ignore the mocking question and try a bit different tactic.

 

‘I’m sorry for what had happened to you, Buck.’ You truly were. You don’t have exact knowledge about what Zola did to him, but you can imagine as much. You recall how Bucky looked laying on that operating table and it still makes you shudder.

 

He just shrugs in response, that’s his way of showing that he doesn’t want to talk about it and you respect that. This scene – you both standing side by side, cold night surrounding you, he’s smoking and you just standing near and distant voices of people in the bar – painfully reminds you of that night in Brooklyn, when you decided to end it, to stop pretending that someday you two can be together. You remember the carnival and your fight, your sleepless night after that letter… you remember it all. Regardless of the time that had passed, the changes you had to undergo – it still aches. You let out a small, barely audible laugh at the remnants of those memories and that was enough for him to finally look at you.

 

‘Remember that night at the carnival?’ You take a few steps forward, quickly look at him and then turn your attention to the sky above you, ‘The stars were just as bright…’

 

‘All I remember about that night is being pissed at you for being such an idiot,’ he replied dryly and remained where he stood.

 

‘Harsh, but fair.’ You smiled to yourself, a tad bitterly.

 

The howling wind was the only one talking for the next few minutes. Since such weather was no longer a bother to you, it made you wonder if Bucky was getting cold standing outside in a snow like this.

 

 ‘I’ve kept your letter, you know.’ You finally broke the silence, your eyes still searching for something in the deep night skies, ‘It’s worn and torn at some places, but I just can’t part with it.’

 

‘You should throw it away.’ His words made you turn around, your face marked with disbelief, while his remained the same – distant and unreadable. He takes another drag and exhales shortly, looking straight at you through the smoke, ‘You chose to ignore what’s written there anyway, so what’s the point in keeping it?’

 

‘I don’t…’ You began, but was interrupted before you could finish the sentence.

 

‘Let’s just call it a night and forget it.’ He threw the butt on the ground and quickly put it out, ran a hand through his hair and was about to take his leave.

 

‘Forget it?!’ you go on the offensive, there’s no point in tip-toing around it. You grab him by the elbow to make a point that this conversation will not end so quickly.

 

‘Yeah, because tell me: what’s the point of dwelling in the past? You achieved your goal, you’re here –on the battlefield- and I salute you _Captain America_!’ He gave you a sneer and a mock salute.

 

‘What the hell is wrong with you, Buck?’ You have both of your hands on his shoulders now, you’re close to actually shouting and shaking him, not of anger – never that- but out of concern and honest confusion.

 

‘With _me_? What the hell is wrong with **_you_**! What-‘He shakes your hands off and gestures at you, ‘– I don’t know what you are anymore. **_Who_** are you and what is this Captain America shit, Steve? I turn my head away and the next moment you sign up for being a guinea pig?’

 

You blink and then again, eyebrows shooting up in utter astonishment and you feel your jaw dropping down slightly.

 

‘For fuck’s sake, you could’ve died!’ Bucky’s voice is strained, painful expression contouring his face.

 

You get it now. Finally the pieces fall together. It’s just like it used to be, the same way it was back in Brooklyn. He’s mad and close to furious simply because he _cares_.

 

‘Could you please stop talking just for a second and _listen_ to me,’ You frame his face with both of your hands, and you have to give yourself a second, you almost forgot what it’s like to have him so close - his face, lips and his eyes so painfully beautiful and blue. So instead of insisting, you plead, ‘Look at me _, just look at me, please_.’ 

 

So he does. His eyes are boring into you, as if trying to see _through_ you, looking for the Stevie hidden behind the walls of muscle and bone of Captain America. You hold his gaze, trying to silently convince him that that Brooklyn kid never left, that you’re still the same and always will be.

 

He parts his lips slightly, maybe he wanted to say something or maybe not, but the words hold no power here anymore, its actions that matter – so you kiss him. And nothing in this world is more gratifying then hearing him let out a small gasp of shock at the contact and actually kiss you back.

 

Kisses turn fervent and desperately eager fast, but it’s no surprise. Because nothing had _changed_ , and nothing will ever change: you react the same way as you always did when his hands get a firm hold of your hips and pull you closer, with your only response being to kiss him deeper, harder. When you bury your fingers in his hair and give them a pull, you’re rewarded with a delicious _mmm_ entwined into the kiss and that was enough for you to jump into motion.

 

You allow your body to act on its own volition, and it surprised you both enough to break contact and stare at each other, panting, taking this in. You realize that at some point between kisses you lifted him up, pinned him against the bar’s wall and now you’re standing there between his legs, lust-dazed and dumbfounded at the same time. Buck is in your arms and you’re trying not to suffocate from the adrenaline rush and want pumping through your veins; but he’s no better: his jaw goes slack at the comprehension of how much the roles had reversed, chest rising and falling in heavy breathes.

 

‘Oh, _fuck_ -‘ was all he could muster as he pulls you back, crashing your lips together.

 

It’s hot and wet and sloppy, but who cares, it’s _him_ – alive and breathing- and you’re kissing him, it’s his arms around your neck and that what makes it all _perfect_.

Each brush of his tongue against yours is an endurance round, and as he locks his legs around your waist, your hips rock forward in an instant response, grinding against him. It’s so _good_ and you can tell that it’s something he wants you to repeat again, because that choked moan against your lips seemed like an encouragement at its best. You do it again, pressing closer, your movements becoming more confident and all it took to turn it into stutter was him switching priorities - his teeth grazing against your neck, licking the underline of your jaw, going up until you could feel his hot breath in your ear. You expected him to say something but all he did was quickly lick your earlobe and then catch it between his teeth – just enough pressure, that’s how you love it- and it made you almost lose your balance.

 

You retaliate with one languid push forward, this time it’s slow and you make sure that he would feel just how hard you are, because you are – _so much_. As you press against his cock, so strained against his pants, his head falls back against the wall and he bites his lower lip. He drags his eyes open and his pupils are blown, covering the blues almost entirely and your mind _screams_ , your whole body throbs, because _God-_  

 

‘ _Buck_ -‘ Was all you could utter, and before you could rush back and bite into this gorgeous mouth, you heard the thud of the bar door closing and barely sober voices becoming louder and _closer_ ; you both have your eyes widen in shock and you almost drop Bucky to the ground.

 

_______

 

It’s a crisp morning dawn, sun’s gentle light peeking shyly through the deep greys of the remnant night. You lay wide awake, the whirlwind in your head kept you up all night. You never liked to be alone with your thoughts, that is why you did your very best to convince higher-ups that you did not need a whole tent just for yourself, but that attempt failed. So now the walls seem to be crushing in on you and you need to get out. You get up, throw on the first thing that you could find and step outside.

 

You take a deep breath, filling your lungs with the cold air – it never felt as good as it is now, so soothing. You breathe out and slowly look around, there are some soldiers keeping post, some of them checking the perimeter, the crunch of snow beneath their feet can be heard throughout the whole camp, it seemed. 

 

As you were about to take a stroll, your attention switched to the voices coming out of the nearby tent, you can’t make them out, but before long it’s over and you see Bucky exiting it and Agent Carter following suit. They share a few more words in tensed voices and then she returns to the tent and Buck sighs before taking a couple of steps in your direction. You had no intention to hide from him and surely enough he noticed you.

 

‘You’re up early, big guy,’ he says with a half-smile, his hands finding their way into the pockets of his pants.

 

‘And you look like you pulled an all-nighter,’ you instantly smile back, ignoring the pang of warmth heating up in your gut. You didn’t finish what you two started yesterday after all, how could you? It’s not like you could share a tent together.

 

‘That’s painfully close to actually being true,’ he let out a small laugh and rubbed the bridge of his nose, ‘Since my chances of getting any sleep today are close to none, care for a small walk?’

 

The walk was mainly around the camp, but since it’s still ungodly early and most of the soldiers were resting up for the new day, it was safe to assume that if your conversation would take a turn into something personal there won’t be many ears around to listen in. Somehow it gave you peace.

 

‘What did Peggy want with you? Without any superiors around that tête-à-tête seemed a bit odd,’ you look at him quizzically.

 

‘Classified,’ he shrugs, ‘I cannot disclose any information regarding my reports and conversations I had with Agent Carter on the subject.’  He looks at you then, a tint of apology in his eyes, ‘No exceptions, sorry.’

 

‘You don’t need to apologize. Besides,’ you look at him, trying your very best to convey warmth through gaze alone, ‘you’ll tell me about it once you’re ready. There’s no rush.’

 

‘Thanks, I appreciate it.’

 

It began snowing and for next couple of minutes your walk proceeded in silence, but it wasn’t strained, quite the opposite – it was peaceful, comfortable. It’s been a very long time since you had a peaceful moment like this and you allow yourself a little smile.

 

‘You know, when I lost the will to fight… as I was laying on that table, with that horrid reek of blood around me, all I did was pray for death,’ were Bucky’s whispered words, but you could hear them clearly, they nearly deafened you and your smile dropped. You come to a halt, he does the same. He lifts his head up to the morning sky and a few crisp snowflakes land in his hair. He turns to you then, looks straight in your eyes and finally speaks, ‘but I’m glad that it was you who answered my call.’

 

There is a knot in your throat, your chest feels heavy and you feel that your eyes begin to sting and you don’t need any other reason to simply wrap your arm around his shoulder and pull him close. His nose is buried in the crook of your neck and you can feel his breath against your skin. He hesitates at first, but wraps his arms around you eventually. This would never pass up for a hug that friends share, you know that. However, there wasn’t a single soul in sight and that was something you both needed. You even dared to place a soft, longing kiss against his temple and he let out a shaky gasp at the contact. He pulled away eventually, cleared his throat, scratched the nape of his neck – the usual things Bucky did whenever he was feeling awkward or overwhelmed.

 

‘So, um… Peggy? Really? Going for the first names already? That was fast,’ he rubbed the corner of his eyes quickly and then smirked, ‘but she’s gorgeous _and_ devoted, so she does look like your type.’   

 

He resumed the stroll, you didn’t want to fall behind and caught up with him in few wide steps.

 

‘Peggy is simply amazing, yes; no doubt about that. But I thought that we already established who my type is,’ you give him a secretive smile – a smirk that had meaning just for the two of you.

 

He slows down and eventually stops, raises an eyebrow at you and states half-humorously: ‘We? I’m sorry I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

 

‘Really? Tell me if someone comes to your mind when I say: spectacular blue eyes,’ you take a confident step in his direction, ‘dark hair,’ another step, ‘perfect features-‘

 

‘Half of the planet falls under that description, if you ask me-‘

 

‘-I’m not finished,’ you hush him by raising a finger to your lips, ‘He is confident, honest and brave-‘

 

‘Okay, that ‘he’ narrowed it down to a quarter of the planet,’ He’s close to actually laughing, you can hear it in his voice and read it from his body language. And that’s good, that is what you want to hear and see – him laughing and happy. The thought that you could’ve lost him nearly torn you apart, the idea of not seeing him ever again – that’s the nightmare that kept you awake for dozen of nights. So now you relish in this moment, seemingly insignificant to others, but holding a deep meaning to you regardless.

 

‘No one will ever take you away from me,’ you state truly, from your heart, placing both of your hands on his shoulders firmly; and Bucky’s confused smile is understandable. Because you can imagine how you must look now, staring at him like at the long lost love that somehow, miraculously, had been found again, ‘I am not letting you go.’

 

He places one hand over yours and squeezes it reassuringly, ‘You won’t get rid of me that easily.’

 

_______

 

All plans you made and strategies you went through with Peggy and your team are delayed abruptly as the blizzard rages on; it does not seem to be set on letting anyone move a step outside the borders of the camp. The wind howls outside your tent and you had to light up the lamp even if it’s just past five in the evening – it’s pitch dark outside. You go over the materials and study the maps again, you stop for a brief moment, and a quick thought of regret passed your mind: too bad that you don’t have super vision - that would be of great help, you would’ve been able to patrol the base even in the storm like this. You sigh and get back to the maps in front of you.

 

You woke up to the sound of rustling right outside of your tent. You slowly realized that you must’ve felt asleep while looking over the papers and the lamp had died out. The wind was still wailing on, but you could clearly distinct footsteps becoming louder and coming closer, and eventually stopping, the tent’s zip being pulled slowly moments after. You try to not make a sound and quietly readjust your position so it would give you the advantage over the intruder. When the shadowy figure stepped inside, you grab them and pull them down on the ground, pinning their hand behind their back.

 

‘Ow, my hand- _you’re breaking my hand_ , dammit!’

 

You immediately let go, stunned – you know that voice, ‘Bucky?’    

 

‘Took you long enough to figure that one out,’ he replied gruffly and you just know that he had rolled his eyes. You move slightly, to give him space to roll over to his back, and so he did. You’ve spent quite a while in the dark, so your eyes have adjusted enough for you to make out Bucky’s features. He’s looking right at you, eyes expectedly searching all over your face.

 

You can feel the cold resonating from him, he must be freezing and all you want to do is to wrap yourself around him, kiss him and make him warm. The feeling of this closeness is slowly getting to you again, you curse yourself for reacting like a love-struck teenage boy. Not to mention Bucky has a magnetic pull, you figured that one out a very long time ago, because how else can you explain your body pressing closer to his? But instead of lashing forward, you clear your throat and ask: ‘What are you doing here?’

 

His head falls back and he looks up at the ceiling, shaking his head slightly, ‘I almost froze my ass off out there and that’s your welcome?’ 

 

‘You know that you can’t stay here, right?’ you kept on with the questions, you need to find reason to keep your hands in place and not _touch_. For if you _do_ -

 

‘Is that a joke?’ he snapped back to attention and focused on your face, ‘It better be, ‘cause I’m not getting out there until that storm blows over.’

 

‘So why did you come here in the first place?’ _Steady Steve, steady._

 

He does not say a word as he reaches out and gets a hold of your dog tags, tugging on them, pulling you lower. You can almost taste him – so _close_. You watch him lick his lower lip before he mutters ‘To finally do this’, and with that he closes the distance. The kiss is deep – slow drag of tongues and lips moving in unison that set every nerve in your body alight – a sweet torture no less. A torture that makes it all so difficult to remain in control, you _need_ to be in control otherwise there is no turning back.

 

You run a hand through his damp hair and pull on them slightly and Bucky’s head lolls back, exposing the curve of his neck – such a beautiful invitation. You accept it eagerly and your tongue leaves hot trails all over it – licking and biting and not leaving a single spot unattended. He groans, gets a hold on your nape and presses you closer, encouraging you to be bolder, more daring.

 

His voice is shaky, yet he musters to whisper in your ear, lips hot against your skin: ‘Show me you missed me.’  

 

There, five simple words and the control you held onto was left in abandon.

 

You bite into his gorgeous mouth with a groan, both of your hands clasping his face - not letting him go. You kiss and kiss until you were forced to break apart, but after catching a short breath you’re at it again, wet lips and soft moans – this is _ecstatic_. His hands are tugging on your shirt and pulling it over your head; you reciprocate by doing the same for him. He runs a hand over your chest, traces your stomach with his fingertips, he looks up to meet your eyes and you see a glint of marvel and astonishment in his own. In a second you are drawing in an unsteady breath, his swift fingers snuck under your waistband and are now on you. He does not hide his arousal as his fingers wrap around you: he moans – voice low and delicious- that sound sends jolts of pleasure through you, your cock showing immense interest in his skillful hands. He gives you an experimental pull – slowly, _up and down_ \- and you grip his shoulder, eyes closed and your jaw going slack, _fuck_ -

 

He repeats it, again and then again, still so tortuously slow and only when you drag your eyelids open and look at him – he changes the pace. You rest your forehead against his and catch his lips again, kisses turning frantic as he jerks you off – the rhythm is just how you love it - he remembers it all.

 

‘Get up here,’ he manages to utter in-between kisses, and pulled you further and up, guiding you so that you end up straddling his chest and it hits you a little too late on what he’s planning to do; you catch up only when he frees your cock and gives it a lick over the head – making your breathing falter. He realigns his position a little and gives it another try, this time mouthing the head and sucking on it lightly and your whole body _shudders_.    

 

‘Buck-‘ you mean to say something but every single thought in your head short-circuited the moment he did that again, adding a bit more pressure. Your hips hitch forward slightly and when he _moaned_ around you – you knew you lost the battle.

 

You begin moving slowly at first, gingerly pushing in and out of his delicious mouth, watching lust-dazed as his lips look wrapped around you. Gradually you began to increase the speed, hips moving faster, your cock going deeper and the heat of his mouth, the slickness of his tongue is becoming too much too fast. Before you trip over the edge you pull out with a wet _obscene_ sound and Bucky is looking honestly confused – blinking and mouth opened slightly, and you can’t help but to stare. You press a thumb against his lower lip and trail it, mesmerized by his lips so hot and soft, and when he sucks on your finger your eyes roll to the back of your head from pleasure.

 

Your throat feels like sandpaper, but you were able to rasp out ‘My turn-’ before sliding lower and hooking his leg over your shoulder and undoing his fly.

 

You pulled him out, took a moment to just watch and take it in, feeling light-headed from just how gorgeous he looks sprawled out like this. You trace the curve of his cock with your tongue and without further ado – took him in your mouth. A gasp from his side and you feel his fingers entwining in your hair in an instant, the gesture of encouragement and you begin to move faster and suck harder. His taste and the heaviness against your tongue is something you yearned for, his moans and gasps is something that you want to take to your grave and never forget. Never forget him, never forget what you two had, have and will have in the future.  

 

He asks in a shaky voice for you to get back up and you oblige, but only after giving him one more lick from base to the tip, earning you a sweet and nearly breathless ‘ _Steve-‘_  

 

You’re face to face again, laying on your sides and chests heaving, mouth on mouth once more. You take him in hand and he does the same, you begin moving, finding the right rhythm and working in tandem in moment’s time. You know each other, studied each other’s bodies with hungry lips and curious fingers many times before, so when he breaks the kiss and looks at you, his body shaking in small waves – you know he’s close and so are you. He shuts his eyes and breathes licentious curses against your lips as he comes; you following right after with blinding stars behind your eyelids.

 

Neither of you move for some time, both needed to catch a breath. This sex-high rush still has a hold of you and your heart thumps against your ribs persistently. You open your eyes only to be captivated by Bucky and his gorgeous face, eyes still closed shut and thick black eyelashes trembling slightly, small beads of sweat over the curve of his eyebrow, his lips red and swollen. He blinks and slowly looks at you, eyes regaining their focus and as he cocks a lop-sided grin at you, you know that you want to stay like this forever.

 

‘You’re so beautiful,’ you whisper, your hand resting on his face, thumb brushing gently over his cheek, ‘I can’t take my eyes off you.’

 

Bucky just snorts and laughs lightheartedly, rolls over to his back and fishes out a handkerchief from his pocket and swiftly cleans himself up with practiced ease, ‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re trying to get into my pants.’ 

 

You retort with a laugh of your own as he hands you a piece of cloth to wipe yourself with, ‘Would that even work?’

 

‘Not likely-‘ and his sentence is caught off, you elbowing him jokingly at his side. You both laugh then, the sound around you is light and cheerful. Happy.

Once you two calm down, breathes evening out, you perch up on one elbow and observe him – from waist all the way to his face. He knits his eyebrows in playful confusion and questions your intense gaze, ‘See something you like, soldier?’

 

You thought about rolling your eyes to such a mockingly silly question and making a witty comeback, but you opt to answer honestly instead, ‘Everything,’ you trace the bow of his eyebrow with your fingertips, ever so gently, ‘You’re one-of-a-kind, Buck.’

 

He smiles sweetly at you, a bit bashfully even, before kissing the inner side of your palm. Something inside of you uncoils at the contact, warmth and unexplainable feeling of contentment going off in delightful, light bubbles – like champagne. You try your best to hold the grin from spreading too wide across your face, as you say: ‘Remember that winter night in Brooklyn, when you got home beat up more than usual?’

 

He hummed against your palm in thought, lips still touching your skin, ‘The one with the knife cuts and nearly broken nose?..’

 

‘Yeah, that one.’

 

‘Oh Billy, never had guts to fight by himself. Always hid behind his goons,’ he shook his head slightly, ‘What about it?’     

 

 ‘Remember what you said to me that night?..’

 

He looked straight at you then, his eyes so blue, soft and earnest, and that look alone was enough to bring you closer to heaven. He pressed a kiss against your hand again, before taking it into his own. Fingers grazing tenderly, a light brush against your pulse line, ‘Yeah, I do.’

 

‘… and you still don’t have my answer, if I’m not mistaking?’

 

He smiled brightly at you and let out a small laugh, ‘I don’t, true. But isn’t this –all we did right now and way back in Brooklyn- an answer in itself?’

 

You give him your most humorously-annoyed stare and he actually laughs out loud; you tried to calm him down by saying ‘Quit stepping on my moment, damn you’ and that fueled his laughing fit even more.

 

‘Sorry, I’m so sorry for that, ‘he actually had to wipe tears from his eyes, notes of mirth still present in his voice.

 

‘I’m that transparent, aren’t I?’ you say from the shelter of your hands, rubbing your face, and with a sigh looking up at Bucky for an answer. 

 

‘Oh yeah,’ he admitted truthfully, sitting up while pulling his clothes back on, ‘I thought I was, too. But apparently, you didn’t grasp my intention.’

 

You sat up, as well. ‘I’m sorry but you were not even close to being obvious, as you claim you were,’ you huffed at him from under your shirt.

 

‘Oh _hell_ I was!’ 

 

‘ _No_ , you weren’t!’ It was your turn to laugh; finally finding where your head should go in this pool of fabric around your shoulders.

 

 ‘Steve,’ he leaned in and placed a hand on your shoulder, ‘I was swooning over you, taking any and every chance to touch you, and to top it all off, I called you ‘my darling boy’  - how more obvious can a guy get?’

 

‘Oh please,’ you roll your eyes at him, your lips curling up teasingly, ‘speaking of obvious: how could you _not_ tell that I was into you from day one?’

 

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, a tint of daring playfulness in his eyes, ‘Day one? Are you serious?’ 

 

‘Absolutely. Admiration that turned into affection, then into serious crush and finally turned out to be…’ You swallowed the last word. You can’t believe that even after all this time it’s so difficult to say; your heart speeding up and if it weren’t for the howling wind outside, you could bet that Bucky would hear it hammering against your chest. Shouldn’t you be eager to finally say it? Shouldn’t the words be rushing from your lips for him to hear?

 

He scooped closer to you, wrapped an arm around your neck. You face him then, your heart feeling lighter and lighter; you rest your forehead against his and kiss him. It’s soft, tender touch of lips and enveloping warmness of the moment, despite the wretched cold outside – things that are close to both undoing you and making you whole.

 

‘I love you,’ you whisper to him, three simple words that convey a whole spectrum of emotions and feelings you have for the man in front of you. He looked up, removed a strand of blond hair from your eyes and whispered, ‘I know. I love you, too.’

 

_______

 

‘That is such a horrible idea, Steve,’ you hear Bucky saying sternly, his lips in a thin line.

 

The Howling Commandos are standing a few feet back and you have Bucky by your side, both of you looking over the railroad from the mountain peak and awaiting the upcoming train. The men behind you are preoccupied with preparations, not likely that they’re paying attention to your conversation, yet you still gesture Buck to lower his voice down.

 

‘You have a better plan?’ you look at him expectedly, although doubting that he has one, ‘We must get on that train – direct orders. Not to mention that we will finally apprehend Zola.’

 

You did not fail to see the change in Bucky’s face as you look at him – blue eyes turning cold, uncompromising and jaw locking – he was prepared to take that beast-of-a-man down.

 

The same blue eyes locked onto yours again, but all you saw was dread and terror in them and you stretched your arm as far as you could, desperately trying to reach him – fear seeping through your bones. You shout for him to grab your hand and he tries, and then again – his hand so close to yours, fingers almost touching. Abruptly, you hear his scream, see him falling down the freezing ravine – a white abyss swallowing him right before your eyes.

 

You cry out his name, your lungs almost tearing apart and your heart threatening to break altogether. 

 

_______

 

You wake up in cold sweat and spring up, sharply sitting up in a makeshift bed, Bucky’s name still heavy in your mouth. You feel wet trails marking your cheeks and your stomach flipping from the newly relived fear from the memories. These memories had become your reality, a reality in which Bucky was dead and somehow people expected you to accept that. But now, you had to endure and try to cope with a different reality where he is alive, breathing and not knowing who you are or who he is to begin with. 

You allow your head to fall helplessly into your hands and you took a deep, shaky breath before rubbing your palms against your face. You look at them then, the very same hands that could not prevent him from falling; these hands were too weak to reach and grab and never let go… some super soldier you turned out to be.

 

The dull knock on the thick metal door was your cue to collect yourself and focus on the task that lay ahead of you.

 

_______

 

You feel your feet becoming rooted to the ground, refusing to move. You feel heavy, as if your whole body turned into lead. You squeeze the handle of your shield so much, you could feel small pulses of pain running through you. Deep breathes, chest rising and falling.

 

‘People are gonna die, Buck,’ you force the words out, voice nearly cracking, ‘I can’t let that happen.’

 

The Winter Soldier is standing a few feet ahead of you, hands at his sides and cool determination written all over his face. He does not move, does not engage in combat – he just looks at you. For a split second you consider the possibility that he may be hesitating, maybe meeting you on the bridge made him remember something, small shard of memory lingering in his mind.

 

‘Please don’t make me do this,’ you mutter, beyond caring that your voice sounds so desperate with plea. His only response was to lower his head slightly, his eyebrows going up and eyes never leaving your face. You flex your fingers around the handle and know that there’s no backing out of this fight. Time is a luxury you do not have; you spring into action.

 

You throw your shield at him, only to see it ricocheting from his metal arm with a loud clang. You catch it, rush forward and in the blur of motions you feel a sudden bite of pain on your side from the bullet fired by the gun in his hand. In this rapid movement you don’t have time to focus on it, you dodge and attack – repeat, over and over, until you finally were able to push him away to give yourself time to mash the buttons on the helicarrier’s control panel. That hit to your jaw almost made you see stars and you are thrown away from the panel, with him looming over you and a razor-sharp knife being so dangerously close to your face. You resist as much as you are capable of, both of you ending up on the lower level and the thing that can save millions of lives – that small chip- slips from your hand.

 

At some point the pain from that bullet grazing your side becomes insignificant in contrast with the sudden, scorching ache of your flesh being torn apart by the cold metal, his knife penetrating your shoulder – through muscle and skin. You scream, letting that outburst be a conduit of your pain as you still fight on, and you are shocked that his level of skill and attacks is so brutal, beyond compare.

The position change and you curse beneath your breath as he gets ahold of the chip, leaving you no other choice but to grab him and wrench his arm behind his back and press on the joint, adding more pressure as he refuses to let it go until finally, you were left with no other choice: his cry of pain accompanied by the crack of bone was the only way to make him release his hold.

 

As you wrap yourself around him, your hands around his neck – choking- and leg around his metal arm – restraining- you can still hear his cry of agony ringing in your ears and you try to force yourself to think of the importance of this mission, but all you can think of is _I’m so sorry_ as you press harder on his throat. You feel him slipping away, losing consciousness, and his struggle subsiding until eventually he stops and you release him. 

 

Up and up, climbing to reach the panel and you hear the gun firing from below, nearly deafening you – bullet coming into contact and piercing your leg. Swallow down the pain, grit your teeth and push on – that’s what you’re here to do.

 

The abrupt scream left your lips as the second shot hits its mark, you can feel the agonizing heat across your lower back, pulses of insane pain spreading like wildfire. You stumble to the ground, gaping at air and trying to regain focus, blood seeping through your uniform – red through the blue.

   

_______

 

As the colossal machines are destroying each other, their massive cannons blistering and abolishing, all you can think of that you can die, now. That you served your purpose, finished the task. Everything made a turnaround once you hear Bucky’s cry from below level and earth beneath your feet tremors, you see him pinned under the huge beam. You had never felt so desperate, so frantic to find the strength needed to lift the heavy thing and save him. You _must_ save him, he cannot die again – you can’t allow it. Miraculously, you succeed.

 

In all honesty you were prepared for that hit to your jaw, metal fist in ruthless contact with your skin and bone. You try to find your voice, convince him, and somewhere between ‘You know me’ and ‘You know me your whole life’ you felt your jaw cracking – his hits keep coming.

 

‘I’m not going to fight you,’ you state truthfully, releasing the hold on your shield and letting if fall through the crack on the floor into the blazing skies, ‘you’re my… my friend.’

 

The next moment you’re already laying on your back, you feel his weight on top of you, strangling you in place, with his injured arm laying motionless on your collarbone. One, two, three – metal punches are landing on your face, leaving you feeling like a pulp, the sickening taste of blood in your mouth is almost overwhelming. Everything hurts and you can barely see from the red obscuring your vision, but none of this matters, none of this physical pain matters for as long as you have a slightest chance to reach him.

 

‘You’re my mission’, he grunts, as his metal arm rose up for an attack again.

 

‘Then finish it,’ you utter brokenly and if you are going to meet your end, you are not going down without saying goodbye: your fingers are shaking and barely listening to you, but yet you reach for his injured hand that is still laying on your body – it’s so _warm_ – and take it in yours. You muster the will you seek and bring his hand closer, bury your face in his palm and kiss it – your broken and blooded lips leaving shattered promises against his skin, ‘cause I’m with you ‘till the end of the line.’

 

He falters then, looks right at you with solemn confusion marking his features, pained turmoil getting ahold of his being, as it seems. He’s a being that is just a machine following orders – he was _made_ to believe that – he’s nothing more, nothing human. An asset. And here you are, refusing to fight him, saying things that should’ve been buried and kissing the man who’s here to bestow death upon you.

Before long, you can’t feel his weight on you anymore, all you _do_ feel is harsh wind howling in your ears and lightness – a free fall into oblivion.  

 

_______

 

You heave your eyelids open, vision regaining focus ever so slowly and as the fog begins to clear you believe you hear something - music? You blink a couple of times and see a familiar silhouette of a man sitting beside your bed.

 

‘On your left,’ you wheeze out, throat feeling like sandpaper, and lungs so sore; super-serum or not your body still needed time to heal.

 

Sam beams at you, this light reaching up to his eyes - a comforting smile on a friendly face – you couldn’t ask for more. He puts the magazine aside and moves closer, dragging the chair while remaining seated all the way to your bed, jumping up at some points with determination written on his face, and that look of his actually makes you laugh, only ending in you having a coughing fit.

 

‘Wow, wow there big guy,’ he passes you a glass of water and knits a brow in caring concern, ‘Take it easy.’

 

You gulp down the offered water in quick succession and breathe out gradually through your nose. You notice bandages, bruises and scar marks on your hands and arms; the realization of your condition comes shortly after: how _did_ you survive anyway?

 

‘We found you on the river bank miles away from the S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters,’ he begins, like he knew you were thinking about it, ‘unconscious, but breathing. Several bullets in your body and fractured bones, some of them even broken – good thing you’re pumped up on that serum of yours, otherwise…’

 

‘Yeah,’ you state a tad bitterly and know where he is getting at, ‘Lucky me.’

 

‘Hell yeah you are,’ he knocks you on the shoulder good-willingly, ‘although _it is_ a mystery how you got out. I mean, all of us are grateful to the stars that you’re breathing –Natasha leading that list of happy people and a beforehand warning: you did not hear that from me- but we’re a little confused on the details.’

 

‘I don’t remember much,’ you begin hesitantly, eyes cast downwards and filtering out the information you should give out regarding Bucky and what happened on helicarrier, ‘It’s kinda foggy.’ You smile at him, hoping that he won’t inquire further.

 

‘That’s alright,’ he shakes you on the shoulder, ‘You have things to worry about other than recalling not-quite-pleasant-memories.’

 

The knock on the door derived your attention from the conversation at hand, before you can utter a word the door already opened and yet another familiar face greeted you. Red lips curled in the pleased and warm smirk, her green eyes conveyed relief and content for finally being able to see you.  You couldn’t do anything but smile right back. Sam snatched the magazine from the table and excused himself, giving you another friendly pat on the shoulder before exiting the room.

 

‘You look terrible,’ she says softly, comes up to your bed and lowers herself into the chair that was previously occupied by Sam. 

 

‘That’s an interesting way of saying ‘glad you made it’, you chuckle and you were not offended in the slightest, you know she cares for you.

 

‘You know that I am glad,’ she takes your hand in hers and you appreciate the gesture, wrapping your fingers around her palm in return. After a short while she looks deep into your eyes and adds, ‘so much, Steve. You haven’t got a clue.’

 

You gently squeeze her hand in compassion and understanding, for you too, care for her profoundly.

 

‘Nat,’ you begin quietly, ‘I don’t have a lot of friends-‘

 

‘Oh _you_ telling me-‘ she grins at you and it was your turn to interrupt, a sheer courtesy between you two; 

 

‘- and I am thankful that you are among them.’ you finish with a warm smile across your face and you see that smile mirroring on her features just a second later.

 

She drops her gaze on your entwined hands and falls silent, small lines on her forehead signifying that she’s in thought. You give her a moment, until she finally lets out a sigh and her eyes flutter closed. You don’t need any explanation, you are more than aware why she acts this way and why her sigh sounds so heavy, weary. She lets go of your hand and reaches out for her bag, spends a short moment looking for a folder and gives it to you without saying a word. She says nothing and she will not speak until you open it – you know it; the Delo Nr. 17 feels cold in your hands.

 

The rustling of paper filled the room and you feel a chill running down your spine as you look at the materials –photos, reports- information about Bucky, and how HYDRA was slowly, methodically turning him into the Winter Soldier.

 

‘You do know that that’s not a whole picture, right?’ she throws you a frank look, her eyes nothing but honest, ‘That’s just bits and pieces I’ve been able to get my hands on though my associates back in Kiev. There will be discoveries that are much, _much_ worse than this, so please, consider your options before pulling on this thread.’   

 

‘Nat-‘

 

‘Steve, _please_. Don’t dive into this headstrong without careful planning. That is all I ask of you.’

 

_______

 

The week you had to spend in the hospital dragged on for what seemed like forever. You tried to convince the doctors that you are fine –and you were, by the end of day one in fact- but they asked to keep you under surveillance for some time longer and you agreed, especially after Natasha had suggested that it would do you good. You’re not sure if it did, but you _do_ know that you were glad to get out of there. When you got out of hospital, she was standing by the car obviously waiting for you. You come up and she immediately stuffs the envelope into your hand with a knowing smile. It was a ticket for your flight straight to Moscow, departure in three hours.   

 

Four months flashed before your eyes in a blink and now you find yourself standing in Sheremetyevo airport, awaiting your flight back to DC. You clench the backpack in your hand – nothing, you moved to half-a-step at best in finding answers about Bucky and his whereabouts. 

 

You had a bit of a fight with your apartment keys before eventually winning the round and opening the front door with a creak. You drop the backpack to the nearest chair, turn the light on and sigh loudly. Your apartment was a disaster, everything turned upside down and things scattered all over – HYDRA sure knew how to search the place. You haven’t been here for so long and everything was left like it had been for over four months. It’s not like you expected to come back to freshly clean home, but a man could hope. You look over this mess once more, trying to decide where to begin.

 

You rub your eyes and face and allow yourself to melt into the couch, the tiresome work is finally behind you. You check the clock and see its hands lazily crossing the 3am mark, but you don’t feel like getting anywhere near the bed. You rub the bridge of your nose and get up, grab the backpack and make your way to the study table. Once the contents of the bag are laying before you, divided into groups, you reach for the final piece – the Delo No. 17 file- and open it.

 

You are not that familiar with Russian and at some moments even the vocabulary you managed to get your hands on is not much of help. Natasha would be of great aid, but you couldn’t ask her for that, not after she got you this info in the first place. You turn one page after another, taking all of it in again, and your gaze lingers on the old photograph of Bucky attached to some report. You look and look and suddenly, like a hit to your gut, you realize that something is very wrong. Why haven’t you noticed this before? You open the lowest drawer and swiftly remove the hidden compartment and take out your old compass– the very same you had with you during the war and open it. Your eyes grow wide with shock - the pictures are identical. The one in your compass was taken after the rescue operation of the 107th and it actually had the whole Howling Commando squad on the picture, but you decided that you should make some alterations and turn your copy into memento that would follow you into battle, though bad times and worse ones – Bucky’s smiling face as the keepsake you hold dearest. So how could the same exact picture end up in this file?

 

You blink awake as the morning light shyly peeked at you through the half-opened curtains – five in the morning is ungodly early. You must’ve fell asleep at some point during your intense search for _anything_ on how HYDRA could’ve get a hold of that photograph, which only lead into one dead end after another. You lean back, yawn, and slowly open your eyes only to find your compass missing. You raise up abruptly – you had it just the night before, you couldn’t have imagined it. As you dug though the all the drawers and leave no place on the table and near it unturned, you feel the small hairs on your neck stand up, feeling a chill of the small draft brushing against your skin. You storm across the living room only to see that the back window that leads to the fire escape is slightly ajar.  

 

You leap through the frame and end up outside, trusting your intuition and climbing all the way up to the rooftop. A couple of steps in and you halter, breath hitching in your lungs and your tongue curls and mouth moves on its own and ‘Buck?’ leaves your lips. You must be imagining things, you’re probably still sleeping on the pile of documents behind your desk – how could it be real- him sitting on the ledge just a couple of feet away from you?

 

You stand ground still and notice how different he looks with a jacket covering the cold metal of his arm, the other one bandaged for what you can see, his hair tied behind messily and his face deep in thought, only grim shadows that play on his face indicate that he’s not your ordinary visitor. Both of you are dead silent.

 

He reaches in to his pocket and you tense up, preparing yourself to dodge what might come your way, but all he did was get a time-worn compass and open it. You freeze and your eyes dart from the piece of metal in his hands to his face, back and forth, not knowing what to make out of this. He took his time to study the framed picture of himself smiling.  

 

He lowers his hand and adjust the compass in a way for you to see the picture as well and questions in a low voice, ‘Why do you have this?’

 

A million answers rush through your mind and you don’t know which one is the right one for him to hear in his current state. But when your eyes meet, something inside of you uncorks and you can’t hold back the flow of words that leave your mouth, ‘It had been with me during the war. It’s something that I wanted to have close when I couldn’t have you by my side.’

 

You see him furrow his eyebrows in what seemed to be a mixture of indescribable emotions: confusion, misunderstanding and ache. You bite the inside of your cheek – maybe it was too much of you to say.

 

‘You say you know this man,’ he starts again, his face remains unreadable still as he looks back on the photo, ‘what he was to you?’

 

‘That man is you,’ you state truthfully and straighten your back, look at him directly; not daring to come closer though, not now. You did not fail to notice the slight twitch running across his face and his jaw flexing - he won’t accept that smiling, happy face as his. You want to believe that he’s just not ready yet, but you do realize that there might be a chance that he never will, ‘James Buchanan Barnes. And we were..’ the rest of the sentence dies out on your tongue. You flex your fingers, rolling them into fists and back again. He lifts his head up and begins to study your face, his thumb brushing over the old metal in his hand.

 

‘We were friends, close ones.‘ You figure that this version would be the best option to go by now. There is no need to delve into close-to-heart details. 

 

He looks at you then, his blue eyes boring into you and his gaze heavy, voice just above the whisper, however you hear him loud and clear, ‘That’s not what I remember.’

 

You are shocked, taken aback. He _remembers_. You don’t have time to pronounce a single sound as he goes on.

 

‘Shattered fragments: grey walls and cracked wooden floor, and it’s cold… but then it’s not. Warmth of someone’s hands, a face that comes closer and words spoken softly a breath away from my own… His lips on mine, it was…’ he hesitates, looks sideways and goes on tentatively, ‘… delicate. Loving.’  

 

You feel like earth is slipping from under your feet, like the world is spinning and you can’t get off. Blood is pounding in your ears and you feel light-headed – you remember that night. You remember your skinny hands wrapping around his neck and pushing him down on the couch, cold wooden floor beneath your feet. You end up on his lap, straddling his hips and kissing him sweetly.

 

‘It was you.’ And it isn’t even a question, it’s a clear-cut statement because he _knows_ that it’s the truth.

 

‘It was me.’ You had no right to say otherwise, you would rather be found dead than lie to Bucky.

 

He doesn’t say anything for a while, neither did he look at you. He was looking at the photo again, before closing the compass with a click. He stands up then, rolls the timeworn thing in his hand and began to move, right at you. Sure, but not threatening steps and in a second he stops at your side and you are unsure what are you to do in this situation. All you _can_ do is look at him: his perfect profile, beautiful eyes and a small scar just above his eyebrow – everything is so familiar and close, but it had never felt so far. He lifts up his hand and hands you the compass, you could feel the cold metal of his arm against your skin for a split second. He turns to face you and you want to say something – _anything_ \- to make him stay, if not forever, but for a bit longer.

 

‘I loved you, didn’t I?’

 

Was the question he muttered below his breath before disappearing from your sight. The sorrow his eyes held when he spoke will haunt you, as you stand there struck to the core, unable to move, to speak or even breathe.

 

_Five simple words._


End file.
